


Watch the Queen Conquer

by baixue88



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Betrayal, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:18:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baixue88/pseuds/baixue88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU for Secret Weapons and beyond: Jazz Fenton enters Vlad Masters' home as a spy for Danny, but getting close to Vlad is more complicated than she could have ever anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [savagelee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savagelee/gifts).



_“fit here, in my palm, in my shadow, don’t be bigger than my idea of you, don’t be more beautiful than i can accept, don’t be more human than i am willing to allow you to be and be quiet, you’re too loud, even your unbelonging is loud. quiet your dreams, your voice, your hair, quiet your skin, quiet your displacement, quiet your longing, your colour, quiet your walk, your eyes. who said you could look at me like that? who said you could exist without permission? why are you even here? why aren’t you shrinking? i think of you often. you vibrate. you walk into a room and the temperature changes. i lean in and almost recognise you as human. but, no. we can’t have that.” - Warsan Shire, Be Small for Me_

 

Jazz Fenton straightened her shirt and shook her hair off her shoulders before raising a single hand, letting it hover a moment before knocking. The knock sounded more feeble than she'd meant it to be, so she did it again, but it still didn't satisfy. Her hand was shaking too hard.

“Come in,” called a voice from the other side, and she felt the pit of her stomach drop. Even so, she managed to get a grasp on the door handle with her sweaty palms and turned it, swinging it open to see the spacious, well-lit mayor's office. The walls were lined with dark oaken bookshelves, the same as in the old manor ( _don't think about it_ ), packed full with texts covering everything from Greek mythology to nuclear power. It took her a moment, but she was finally able to look over at the large desk (dark oak to match the bookshelves) and at him. He wasn't so much as attempting to hide the triumph on his face, in his eyes.

“Jasmine,” he said, standing up. “I wondered how long it would take you to come in and congratulate me.”

She licked her dry lips. “Yeah. Overshadowing everyone in town and making them vote for you was a _real_ political triumph. You really overcame all the odds there.”

He frowned, and walked around his desk, leaning back against it and folding his arms. “Well, then. What are you here for? I was under the impression that you wanted to get as far away from me as possible.”

“That's a bit hard when you come to my town and take over. What are you doing here, Vlad?”

“I didn't come here for _you_ ,” he sniffed, turning his head away. “I'm just here to keep tabs on your brother. _You_ were the last thing on my mind.”

 _Liar_ , she thought. “You _could_ just leave us both alone,” she said instead. “My brother is hardly a threat to you – the only reason he's on your radar is because of your miserable obsession with my family. Admit it: you could care less if he was half ghost or not. Just take the high road and go back to Wisconsin and forget all about us.”

He looked at her then, his blue eyes flashing and his jaw set. “ _Forget_?” He hissed. “You expect me to just _forget_ how your good-for-nothing father ruined my life and stole the one good thing I'd ever had, and how your brother has so nobly decided to keep up that good old family tradition? You expect me to forget _you_?”

“Yes,” she stated, and was both pleased and surprised to find that her voice had gained a bit of its old firmness. “Forget it. Forget _everything_. Go back to Wisconsin and pretend it never happened and leave my family alone. For good.”

Vlad stood up straight and approached her slowly, as if she was some kind of stray cat that might dart away at any second. Jazz took a step back, but she bumped up against a bookshelf, and the door seemed so far away. His slender hand wrapped around her wrist then, his surprisingly delicate fingers digging into her flesh with an awful unearthly strength, as he stepped close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek.

“I'll go,” he promised, “when you agree to come back with me. That's the only way. Take it or leave it, dearest Jasmine. Say yes and I'll disappear from Amity Park and your nuisance of a brother will never hear another peep from me.”

She was shaking now, trying to avoid the way he smelled like spiced clove and honey and the feeling of his skin – so abnormally smooth for a man of his age – against hers and the burning in his eyes that used to be there ( _don't think about it_ ) whenever he used to look at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, there was no air in her lungs and no strength left in her tongue, and she was stuck looking up at him like some foolish deer trapped in headlights.

He leaned in and kissed her. It was hard and bruising and unforgiving, and when he shoved his tongue into her already-open mouth it was to claim it as his own, his territory, just like all else in her city. Both his hands were on her now, pressed into her back and drawing her fast against him. She made a feeble noise of protest and he moaned in return, deepening the kiss. Her hands found his chest and she pushed hard, so hard that he practically stumbled over himself as he was propelled away from her. She stood, her arms extended still, breathing hard.

“ _No_ ,” she said. “Never. I'm never coming back. _Never_.”

His face spasmed as if in pain, but he kept his cool. “I'm not going to make this offer again, Jasmine. Refuse me and Amity Park is mine. I will never leave your brother in peace.”

Jasmine closed her eyes, thinking of Danny. _“No more,”_ he'd begged her, months earlier. _“I'm tired of you doing this for me. I can handle him. Just come home, don't make me watch you do this anymore.”_

“Never,” she repeated.

Vlad stiffened, and she shrunk back, terrified for one horrible moment that he might be enveloped in light and emerge with fangs and black hair and those haunting red eyes.

But he didn't. He stayed himself, and walked mechanically to the door, opening it wide.

“ _Out_ ,” he said.

She went out, and the door slammed behind her, echoing loud down the corridors of City Hall.


	2. Chapter 2

**One Year Earlier**

Jazz went home early that day. Usually she attended badminton club on Thursdays, but she had come to a firm decision around sixth period, and she knew she had to act fast. She drove home as quickly as she could without violating multiple traffic laws and hurried upstairs to her room, where she flung open her closet and dragged down her old battered suitcase. Her packing was quick and methodical – everything in its place, essentials only, leave the comfy old sweatpants and t-shirts behind. Nice slacks and blouses and sundresses only. Exactly two pairs of shoes – the comfy-but-chic flats for school and the black pumps for nice occasions. The bright red heels she so dearly loved would have to be left behind – they only matched one of her outfits, after all, and there was simply no room for them. Regretfully, she put them back in the closet.

Downstairs she heard the door slam. Danny was home earlier than usual. Well, that was fine – she wasn't sure how long she wanted to delay the inevitable.

“Danny!” She called, trying desperately to keep her voice steady. “Can you come up here? I need to talk to you!”

Heavy footsteps on the wood as Danny came slumping up the stairs. There were big bags under his eyes – ever since she'd decided to help him more, it seemed like they'd been working overtime on ghost patrol. He stood in the door and eyed her suitcase, one black eyebrow arched.

“What's with the packing?”

“I looked through your computer.”

His face immediately turned bright red, the ugly flush creeping up his neck and onto his pale cheeks. “Th-that's _private_! What did you see?”

“I just wanted more information on what we're going up against.”

“There's no ' _we_!'”

“Danny, I know about Vlad now. I know he's half ghost too.”

The anger drained from his face. “Oh.”

“And his creepy thing about mom.”

Danny gave an obligatory shudder, and shook his head. “Still, that's my _private_ computer. You need to butt out! Your snooping isn't actually helping me any!”

“That's the thing – I was going to confront you earlier about this, but then I realized it: my snooping hasn't been helping you at all.” Jazz worked hard to keep a grin from spreading across her face, but failed miserably. “Instead, I'm going to do a little snooping that _will_ help you. Just hear me out on this one.”

Both Danny's eyebrows were raised high on his forehead now, but he shut the door and sat down at her desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm listening.”

\----

Later that night, Jazz pulled slowly up the drive in front of Masters Mansion. It seemed much bigger at night, stretching up infinitely into the sky ahead of her, most of its windows dark and cold and empty. She shivered, but steadied herself, and shut her car's door behind her, lugging her heavy carpetbag suitcase up the stone stairway. The doorbell was lit with a pale blue light, and she pressed it once before arranging herself: hair straight and combed and shirt smoothed out, but with a hint of tears welling up in her eyes and a sad pout to her lips.

It took a few moments before a silhouette appeared at the door and Vlad Masters cracked it open, casting a suspicious glance outside before spotting her and opening it wider, his mouth opened wordlessly in surprise.

“Oh, Uncle Vlad!” She cried immediately, batting her eyelashes in an effort to hold back her tears (one escaped and made its way down her cheek to her trembling lips), “I just can't take it anymore! I have to get out of that house! My father is just a ghost-obsessed idiot and my brother hates even being in the same room as me! I'm going crazy, and I have no where else to go! Please, can I stay with you? Just for a little while?”

Vlad remained frozen in place for a moment, but a smile began to spread across his face. “My dear child, of course you can! Here, let me help you with that bag – no, no, I'll take it. You must have driven straight through dinner. Are you hungry? You look hungry. Let's get you some food.” He ushered her inside so fast that her head nearly spun, and it took her a moment to get her bearings inside of his massive front hall before he guided her through a labyrinth of hallways into a state-of-the-art kitchen.

“Now, what was that about your father?”

\----

For having such a magnificent kitchen, Vlad certainly didn't have much on hand, but he managed to warm her up a personal pizza in his oven. As they waited for it to cook, he poured her a coke and sat listening with what seemed like infinite patience to her wax long and prosaic about the horrors she had to endure as the daughter of two ghost-obsessed freaks and the elder sister of an anti-social little brat of a brother. So she waxed on, for as long as she could, spinning vast tales about what she, as the bright but earthly-minded Fenton, had to put up with. She did her very best to be sincere, but her voice seemed to ring tinny and false in the pristine, sanitized kitchen, and she couldn't make herself meet Vlad's eyes. Whenever she did, his gaze seemed to throw her off track. Despite his little coos of sympathy, his eyes were cold and distant and tinged with only the most calculating kind of concern.

Even so, he seemed to be buying everything – hook, line, and sinker. That was encouraging.

“I understand,” he offered, after her stream of complaints had finally ground to a puttering halt. “I had parents that didn't understand me either. It's hard being the bright one in the family, and you, Jasmine, are very, very bright.” He extended one hand to where hers were folded on the table and gave a light squeeze. His flesh was cooler than a normal human's, and smooth – smoother than a normal 40-something man's hands should be, as if time had barely any effect on him.

 _Is this what Danny will be like when he's older?_ She found herself wondering. _Cold skin and ageless to the touch?_

Her eyes were drawn to Vlad's mouth, his cheeks, the corners of his eyes. Where her parents had little smile lines, frown lines, crow's feet – on him there were hardly any markings at all, besides the dark circles around his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks that made the bone of his skull seem to jut out against his flesh. It was hardly noticeable unless you looked carefully – anyone giving him a casual glance would simply say he'd aged well – but when you _did_ look carefully, you realized he was _too_ perfect, somehow, but only in the lifeless way that airbrushed models are perfect. He was perfect like a statue. Perfect like death.

She shivered, and he released her hand. “Are you cold? Let me get you a sweater.” She didn't bother arguing, but sat compliantly as he disappeared down another hallway. It was a little cold here – colder inside than outside, really. She stood up, rubbing her arms, and began walking around the kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with plates and glasses and racks of spices – everything you could need, really – but the fridge was empty except for some frozen meals and ice cream and a few cartons of leftover Chinese takeout. An assortment of takeout menus lay beside the fridge on the counter, looking as if he'd recently shuffled through them. There were also a couple cupboards full of tea and a teapot, but that seemed to be the only thing in regular use.

“I do know how to cook,” Vlad said, and Jazz nearly jumped out of her skin, turning to see him standing behind her with a Packers hoodie in hand. “I just barely seem to have the time for it anymore. It's too bad – I actually quite enjoy it.” Without a moment's wait, he draped the hoodie over her shoulders, gently sweeping her hair out of the way with his slender, pale fingers. “There. Better?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

His hands were still resting lightly on her shoulders. She could feel their gentle pressure through the thick fabric of the hoodie, unmoving. So she stood there, waiting, waiting for him to stop touching her, unsure of how long was too long for a gentle, soothing touch from an "uncle" to last, and of how to pull away without making the situation awkward. Well, _more_ awkward.

The timer beeped, and she took the opportunity to pull away, moving to get a plate out of the cupboard as Vlad put on his oven mitts and pulled out the pizza. “Eat up,” he practically sang out. “Again, sorry about the lack of flair. Had I known you were coming, I'd have gotten something a little nicer.”

“Thanks, I just...I was nervous about calling.” She sat down at the table, shrugging the hoodie sleeves onto her arms and zipping it up. The fabric was old and worn in, and smelled like a faint afterthought of shampoo. But it was warm and cozy and incredibly soft.

Vlad sliced the pizza as if he'd done it a hundred times and slid it in front of her. The plate was far too finely to hold a simple oven-made pizza, and it was clear that the silverware was actual silver – not like the simple metal cutlery she'd grown up with. Gingerly, she picked up the knife and fork and began to cut, praying that she wouldn't scratch the fine china when she got through the crust.

“So,” she asked after she'd managed to get through it without any major incident, “if you don't have time to cook, why not just hire a cook? And maids? You have this huge place and nobody helps you take care of it?”

He shrugged. “I have cleaners come regularly and spruce up the place, yes, but I can take care of things on my own for the most part.”

“Prefer your solitude?” She prodded, her mouth half full.

He shrugged evasively. “You could say that.”

She took another bite. “So it's just you in here, then?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, just me, I'm afraid, though now that you're here, dear Jasmine, it looks like I'll plenty of company. Honestly, I never would have imagined being one for jilling with the youth, but I'm more than open to it.”

She frowned in confusion. “Jilling?”

“You know, spending time with?”

“Chilling?”

“No, Jasmine, _jilling_. You must spend too much time studying to keep up on things. Anyway, I do hope you'll spend as long as you like here. If you prefer to stay a little longer, I can arrange things with a school here for you to transfer.”

Jazz smiled in relief. That had been, she had to confess, what she'd been most worried about when she hatched this little scheme – moreso, even, than spending the next weeks or even months with an unstable half-ghost. The possibility of her grades dropping even a fraction, of losing her 4.0 GPA after she'd worked so hard to ace the C.A.T., had filled her with a gnawing anxiety.

“I hear St. Lawrence's private school is really good,” she suggested helpfully.

He raised an eyebrow. “St. Lawrence? How in the world did you hear about them? Did you look them up before you came here?”

“No!” She scrambled for an excuse. “No, of course not. I just saw them at the debate team regionals. Their team got almost a perfect score.”

He nodded in evident satisfaction. “I did hear they're quite skilled. That's fine, then – I'll arrange things first thing on Monday.”

\----

By the time Vlad took her to a guest room, her stomach was full and her eyelids were weighed down with exhaustion. She was warm and cozy in the hoodie and all she wanted to do was sleep for a long, long time.

Vlad led her down more meandering hallways and up a few short flights of stairs. “We're in the northern tower now,” he told her. “My bedroom is just up the stairs and across the hall from where you are, so feel free to come on up and give a knock if you need anything. But don't be hurt if I don't answer – I'm a very heavy sleeper.”

 _I bet_ , thought Jazz, struggling not to roll her eyes. _I could try to listen into whatever's going on in there, though. Maybe I'll overhear something._

“Here we are!” Vlad announced brightly, swinging open an elegant door to reveal a room decked out in lavish purples and indigoes. A four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, but there was room to spare for a large armoire, a desk, a bookshelf, and a comfy-looking armchair.

“It's lovely, Uncle Vlad,” she gasped – and meant it. “Thanks so much!”

Vlad grinned at her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “There's a closet here, and if you look through this door,” (he swung it open) “your own bathroom! Bet you didn't have that at home!”

Jazz couldn't help but be dazzled by the elegant claw-foot tub resting on a mosaic of fine white and lavender tiles. “Oh,” she gasped. “No, I never did.”

“Well, then!” Vlad stalled for a moment, and his smile faded a little, his hands fluttering nervously at his sides. He suddenly seemed entirely unsure of what to do. “Well, then,” he repeated. “I'll leave you to it. Feel free to sleep in tomorrow, as long as you please. We can call your parents when you wake up and talk to them about...all of this.”

She forced herself to smile up at him. “Yeah.”

“I hope you find everything to your liking,” he offered, still seeming uncertain of what exactly to do next.

 _Has he never had guests here before?_ Jazz wondered incredulously, but smiled again. “I'm sure I'll be fine. Goodnight, Uncle Vlad.”

“Yes, goodnight!” He offered her his hand but then seemed to change his mind and kissed her on the cheek, European-style, before excusing himself and stepping out.

The moment he was gone, Jazz sat wearily down on the bed, sinking onto the soft mattress in a daze. She had planned to get started on everything tonight, but the rich pizza was slowing her down and the long drive had exhausted her totally.

 _I should put on my pajamas,_ she thought distractedly, but laid down instead, staring up at the ceiling.

_“You're crazy,” Danny had told her. “I'm not risking my sister to let her go live out some insane James Bond movie.”_

_“Relax,” she'd assured him, and she'd believed it too. “It won't be for long. I just want to put myself to some actual use. Vlad won't suspect a thing. I'll be the perfect spy!”_

_This is going to be a lot harder than I thought,_ she mused, staring up at the richly-patterened baroque ceiling. _This house is a maze, and Vlad might be the most private person I've ever met. I'm going to have to tread carefully._

 _It's fine, though,_ she assured herself as her vision faded into the warm darkness of sleep, _I have plenty of time._


	3. Chapter 3

She woke up staring at a ceiling she didn't know.

Carved vines twisted across it, tangled with bramble and thorns that wove in between the flowering buds. Occasionally the face of a child peered out at her, snarling at times and laughing gleefully at others.

At some point in the night, she'd been moved from lying on top of the quilted duvet to lying beneath it, on the smooth silk sheets. Now she felt too warm, her hair sticking to her face from a thin sheen of sweat. She pushed off the covers and sat up.

 _I'm still wearing Vlad's hoodie. I hope he doesn't mind,_ she noticed, and pulled that off too, shaking out her sweat-dampened hair. _Ugh. I need a shower._

The shower was hot and strong, but much gentler than the hard tap water back at her parents'. Jazz sighed in content as her own little bathroom filled up with thick, heavy steam, and pulled off her clothes, fingering absentmindedly at the indents her pants had left on her waist from being on too long. She stepped into the tub and let out a bigger, longer sigh as the spray hit her, so hot that it made her skin redden. She could never feel quite clean unless she turned up the heat as high as it could go. Nothing could beat, in Jazz's view, a hot shower at the start of the day.

It was the perfect time to plan ahead.

 _Vlad said he wanted to call my parents whenever I woke up,_ she remembered. _The trick will be shedding him for the rest of the day so that I can poke around. I have to make sure he's not suspicious though._ She had to figure Vlad as a pretty suspicious guy – even during the short time she'd been with him the night before, he'd been constantly glancing around the room and even over his shoulder, as if he'd been expecting the worst to befall him at any moment.

_I'm going to have to lull him into a false sense of security, somehow._

By the time she turned off the shower and was drying off, she knew exactly what she'd do that day: Vlad Masters would have no time to be alone and begin to suspect anything. _Vlad Masters,_ she thought to herself, _get ready to have a whole day 'jilling out' with Jazz Fenton._

  
She almost didn't notice the tray on her desk until she had on a clean skirt and blouse and was headed out the door, but as soon as she laid eyes on it, her stomach gurgled appreciatively. Vlad had left her a bowl of fresh yogurt sprinkled with blueberries, and a smaller bowl of granola to the side. A tall, cold glass of orange juice stood on top of a folded-up sheet of paper and left a damp ring when she picked it up.

_He must have gone out early to get all this. I didn't see any breakfast food when I looked in his fridge yesterday._

She sat down at the desk, stirred the granola into the bowl, and began to eat, picking up the little folded note as she stuck the spoon in her mouth.

_Jazz -_   
_By the time you wake up, I'll probably be out back._

_Enjoy,_   
  
_Vlad._

She gobbled down the rest of the bowl in a hurry and flushed it down with the glass of orange juice. She wasn't sure what time it was, but from the chill of the juice, she knew he couldn't have left the breakfast there for her that long ago. She hopped up and hurried toward the door, doubling back to grab her shoes (someone had taken those off her feet and placed them, very neatly, at the foot of the bed) and the tray.

It took a few minutes to remember her way back to the kitchen, but she eventually found it, and put everything carefully in the dishwasher. As cold and stark as the kitchen had seemed the night before, now it was flooded with warm light from the big, wide windows behind the table, and she could see out into Vlad Masters' spacious backyard, covered with flower beds and tall oaks. There was even – she found to her excitement – a well-kept swimming pool with adjoining hot tub. She had to poke around a little more before she found the back door and wandered out into the garden.

 _Holy cow,_ she thought, gazing across the winding paths and bushes and life-bursting flower beds, _I saw the miniature field driving up, but I had no idea all of_ this _was back here._

The sprawling grounds were a breathtaking reprieve from the completely baffling internal decorating scheme of Vlad's interior (she still couldn't bear to look at that green-and-yellow main hall), and Jazz found that she couldn't quite decide if he truly had a taste for finer things than football, or if he'd just run out of things to spend his money on. _He very may well have just decided to throw every kind of plant out here just to show off. Who knows?_

She had her answer when she rounded a rather large and admirable cluster of rose-bushes. She was busy admiring the way the coral-colored blooms crept up around a statue of a winged man embracing a supine woman, their arms twisting around one another's necks. Determined to see the statue from the front, she nearly tripped over Vlad, who was on his knees in the dirt, digging out weeds with gloved hands.

“Oh!” She yelped. “Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't even see you.”

Vlad looked up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. His long white hair was pulled up out of the way into a messy bun that was almost charmingly too-youthful for him. “Jazz! You're up earlier than I thought you'd be. Did you sleep well?” He smiled pleasantly at her, sitting back on his heels, but glancing back at the stubborn weed as if in secret annoyance at her interruption.

“You can join me, if you, uh, want to,” he offered, gesturing clumsily at the dirt and bushes.

“Thanks, but I'm not really dressed for it.” She nodded toward the statue. “Cupid and Psyche, right?”

“Good eye. It's Bernini. Only a copy, though. Damned Italians won't sell me the original.”

She laughed, but then saw his face and realized he wasn't joking.

“Thanks,” she said, trying to repair the situation, “for putting out that  
breakfast for me. It was really good.”

His boyish smile returned, all the more full of gratification. “Excellent! Well, give me just a moment, and I'll go in with you to call your parents. Your father is probably brimming over with worry.”

Despite his concerned words, Vlad seemed to hardly be in any hurry to end his work and go inside. He almost leisurely returned to digging around the stubborn weed, pushing his trowel deep into the dark, moist earth and thrusting upward beneath the roots. Jazz found herself watching intently, taking in his rhythmic, quasi-mathematical stabs into yielding earth and pushing up against the resistant plant. _“Some people,”_ she'd read once, _“enjoy ritualistic, rhythmic activity to help soothe the jagged corners of the mind. They work with their hands as if kneading the kinks and knots out, as a potter pushes air out of clay.”_

Vlad's large-but-delicate pale hands plunged into the almost black soil and forced out the loosened weed by its base. He glanced at it quickly before tossing it over his shoulder onto a pile of already-pulled weeds.

“Well, then.” He stood and brushed his hands off on his denim-covered legs. His nails all had dirt under them, little black half-moons on pale fingers. “We had better get it over with, hadn't we? Come along, Jasmine.”

She pushed down the mild resentment at being addressed like some kind of pet, knowing it could probably be chalked up to just another quirk in this man's endlessly odd life. _Don't rock the boat this early on,_ she reminded herself. _It's not worth it. Not when you've only just started._

“Do you not have a gardener?” She glanced behind them as Vlad opened the back patio doors, taking in once more the vast jumble of orchards and flowerbeds, statues and fountains. “This is a lot to take care of on your own.”

“I have help with it,” he replied, rather vaguely. “But I still like to work on it when I can. It's relaxing.”

She wanted to press the question, find out what he so desperately needed relaxation from (his entire life seemed to be one of relative leisure as he didn't actually appear to have a job), but bit her tongue. _I can't let him suspect I know anything._

“If you'll wait for me in the sitting room,” he gestured down the hallway to an open arch, “I'll be right in, and we can call your parents. I want to go clean up.”

She nodded obligingly and arrived in a room decorated with much the same color scheme as her bedroom upstairs: all deep, royal purples with highlights of burnished gold. The air was heavier in here, and still, and the light was muted by thick, dark violet curtains that hung over the picture windows. The room felt abandoned, even though it was completely spotless and free of dust. It was almost like a model home, un-lived-in and soulless. An old-fashioned telephone sat on a little table by the curtained window, but Jazz didn't see much else that seemed to get regular use. There was a small fireplace, but its hearth was empty of any ash or coal. There wasn't even a single black smoke-stain on its inner walls. Above the mantle hung an immense picture of Vlad himself, his back straight and a smug smile on his lips. It utterly dominated the still, small room. Only upon closer inspection did Jazz realize that this was no photo (as she'd originally thought), but an intensely detailed oil painting.

 _This must have cost him a fortune_ , she marveled, trying to discern a signature amidst the delicate paint-strokes but finding none. Her eyes were drawn upward to his face. Stern, intense, surprisingly dapper, but with a dangerous gleam of greed in his sky-blue eyes. They seemed to follow her as she moved across the room, and she shivered a little. Whoever the artist was, they had captured him perfectly.

Jazz turned and inspected the other walls, not wanting to dwell any more on that chilling gaze. There were other paintings, but most of them were still-lifes or landscapes. There was only one other with human figures in it, but it was a Baroque mythological scene she knew she'd seen in art history class, but couldn't quite remember.

No personal photographs, she realized. _Not even family portraits. There's only one picture of an actual human being in here, and it's himself._

At home, the living room walls were covered with family pictures, all of them fairly low quality taken with her dad's old film camera, except for the year her mother had gone all-out in hiring a professional photographer to take the cheesiest-looking family portrait Jazz had ever had the embarrassment to be a part of. Still, for all their oddness, her parents loved being surrounded by reminders of the people they loved. Jazz's favorite picture had always been one of her family taken when she was very very young, only a toddler in her father's arms. Danny was there too, but as the large bulge of her mother's stomach protruding forth out of her tiny frame. But the reason Jazz loved it was because her dad's parents were with them in the photo. Her grandfather had died shortly after it was taken, and she had only fuzzy memories of him tossing her in the air and singing her silly old songs, but in that photo, his wrinkled, weather-beaten face was beaming with love and joy.

There was nothing like that here. Nothing to indicate that Vlad had ever known anyone but himself, nothing to indicate where in the world he come from, who in the world he came from.

_I can hardly believe he has no photos or anything from his family. He has to have had a family, hasn't he? There has to be at least one picture of someone he's cared for._

Her hand brushed against wood, and she turned to see an immense, antique globe, with borderlines and country names that hadn't existed for decades. She spun it idly, letting the pad of her index finger drag along the carved wood like when she and Danny had been little and played the Carmen Sandiego game. _Maybe up in his room,_ she thought absently, _maybe that's where he keeps his memories._

“Where did you end up?” Vlad asked from behind her when the globe finally spun to a creaking halt. She started a bit but smiled over her shoulder at him.

“Prussia.”

“Ah. Too bad it no longer exists.”

Her smile widened. “I suppose I'll have to just remain wandering in space and time, then.”

Vlad chuckled, and set down the tray he was holding, which contained a delicate china tea pot and two matching tea cups. “I made Earl Grey. I hope you don't mind it.”

“Earl Grey is fine by me.” She hadn't grown up drinking a whole lot of tea, but every so often her mother would make a cup of Earl Grey and would sit and think on her calculations as the steam filled the air with the tea's light, sweet fragrance.

Vlad had changed and washed up, his hair combed back into its usual sleek ponytail. He looked almost harmless, standing there pouring them both tea and mixing in a touch of cream and sugar.

“So,” he began, settling down into a chair and gesturing for her to do the same. “How shall we do this? Are you planning to divorce your parents entirely or do you plan on making this shorter-term?”

“Well,” Jazz mumbled. She hadn't been prepared to think quite so seriously about this. “I... I don't really know. I don't want to _divorce_ them, but... well, I don't really want to _live_ with them either.”

“A legal divorce and a change of guardianship would probably be better for you in the long run,” Vlad insisted. “I would be more than happy to play that role in your life.” He reached out and gently put one hand over hers where it lay still on the table, but she yanked hers back instinctively and passed it over her eyes. Her pulse was pounding deep in her eye-sockets and a slow ache was growing up at the base of her neck. _This is happening too fast! I didn't even think about this! Stupid, Jazz! Too stupid!_

“Jasmine?” Vlad was waiting for her answer, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Please,” she begged. “I... I just need to think about this. Give me a month or two to consider it. I don't want to be rash. I wasn't prepared. _Please_.”

Vlad's eyes seemed to harden for the briefest of moments, but hten he nodded in acquiesence. “Fair enough I shouldn't pressure you. Let's say two months from today, you make your choice, yes? Does that seem fair?”

No, she thought, but I'm gonna find out your secrets and get the fuck out of here before that deadline hits, you better believe that.

“Sure.” She beamed at him in gratitude.

The hardness in his eyes faded, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in an odd little smile as he reached out once more to put one hand upon hers. His palm was so soft and gentle, and for a moment she wondered if Danny had it all wrong – if Vlad wasn't some horrible monster after all. What kind of monster had such a gentle touch?

“Let's call your parents,” he suggested. “They're bound to be worried out of their minds right now, so it's better that we tell them your plans sooner rather than later.”

“You're right,” she admitted, swallowing. She'd never rebelled like this, not this drastically. That had always been Danny's department. How do you tell your own parents that you're demanding freedom from them?

Fingers trembling, Jazz picked up the phone from its cradle and put it to her ear as she dialed. It rang three times, each almost agonizingly longer than the last, and each time she desperately wished she could slam the phone back down and run up to her room and let Vlad deal with everything. _No. I have to do this. It has to be me._

And so she sat stock still, unable to move, the plastic pressed cool and hard against her ear.

“Helo? Vladdie?” Her father's voice boomed out of the reciever and Jazz bit back a gasp and squeezed hard on the handle.

“Hi, dad, i-it's me. I'm at Uncle Vlad's.”

“Jazz, baby?” Her mother's nasal voice sounded tinny with anxiety over the wires. “What are you doing in _Wisconsin_? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, mom. I just...I just need some space. Mom, Dad, please, _please_ understand. I can't take all this ghost stuff anymore. I can't. I need some normalcy in my life. Please.” The lies flowed off her tongue with incredible ease.

Silence. Jazz looked at Vlad, who was drinking calmly from his teacup, but clearly able to hear everything.

“But Jazz,” her mother finally said, her voice far away and doubtful, “what about school? You're only a year away from graduation.”

“Uncle Vlad says he can help me transfer to a school here. They're really good quality. I'll be fine.”

More silence. Jazz bit her lip, willing tears not to come. _Please, just take what I've said and accept it. Please don't make me say anything else that could hurt you. Please._

“Let me speak to Vlad,” mom finally said, her voice suddenly cold.

Vlad was already reaching for the phone when Jazz handed it to him, and as soon as he started talking, she got up and went out the door into the hall, leaning against the wall and covering her face in her hands. She felt like she ought to be crying, like she ought to be feeling even more horrible than she was, but her nerves were so tight that she couldn't bring tears to her eyes even if she wanted to.

She stood like that for what felt like hours, slumped against the wall, wanting to listen in on the conversation but unable to because of the blood pounding in her ears. _I should leave, right now, just grab my things and run, before it's too late. Tell mom and dad it was just a sick joke and apologize to Danny. I can't do this. I can't do this._

But she didn't move. Her feet had lead weights attached to them, and she was anchored to that spot on the rug, within feet of Vlad Masters and whatever he might be planning.

“Jasmine,” she finally heard him call her from in the parlor, and she straightened up, sucking in a deep breath. “Everything's arranged. Come back in.”

She came back in, and stood in the doorframe, looking at him.

“You could have stayed in here to listen in, instead of being sneaky.”

“I wasn't,” She promised. “I just wanted to think.”

“Hm. Well, I've worked it out with your parents. You're free to finish out the semester here, and then we'll talk things over again. Don't worry, I didn't tell them about the divorce idea.”

Some of the tension leaked out of her muscles. “You hung up?”

“Yes.” He blinked, looking confused. “Why, did you have something more to say to them?”

“No...I...I guess I just thought I ought to say goodbye.”

He waved a hand in the air as if he was swatting that thought away. “No need! It's not as if this is your last chance. You'll be speaking to them again, I'm sure.”

_I ought to cry. I've never been away from them for so long. I've never even thought about running away. I ought to be crying._

No tears came. Jazz clenched and unclenched her hands, looking down at them as Vlad sat there, looking at her curiously.

“You seem uneasy, Jasmine. How about we do something to get your mind off things. Do you like badminton?” He stood and gestured her ahead of him, back out the door.

“Badminton?” She glanced back over one shoulder and saw the phone, resting peacefully in its cradle as if had never been used at all. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! This chapter was a bitch to write, but I guess we better keep the plot moving along. Thanks as always for reading!


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